In Camelot’s Shadow: Book One of The Paths to Camelot Series (Prologue Fantasy) (38 page)

“What of my man?” Nessa croaked. “How long have I been here?”

“Drew will be with you in the morning, but he won’t know anything’s wrong. He’s been enchanted, just as you and I have been.”
Yes, pay attention. This is not the truth of me anymore than that struggling blind creature is the truth of you
. “If you listen, and if you’ll help, I think I can set us all free.”

Nessa wadded her apron up in both hands, but still, she made her decision. “What must I do?”

Nessa’s question ringed around Risa’s mind and she frantically tried to think. There must be a way. Could Nessa steal the key to Euberacon’s tower? Impossible. But where else could his weaknesses be found? How else could they be discovered? Risa glanced furtively at the tower, as if she feared to see Euberacon scowling down at her. But he was as before, balancing on his strange and precarious perch, surrounded by the all the demons.

Risa’s breath froze in her lungs. Not all the demons. Where were the other pair? The two that were invisible during the day, that came and went from his study and seemed to know all that occurred within these walls?

And what if they could be made to tell what they knew?

She had it. The oldest stories and her own desperation showed her what to do. There were ways to trap demons, ways to make them speak, and they were told ‘round the fire on a winter’s night. Now was the time to find out if those tales told the truth.

Risa gripped Nessa’s hand tightly.

“At day’s end, you must take your largest covered kettle and put in it some of the hops, barley and malt for the brewing, a fresh egg, a length of rope and all the things needful to make a fire. Repeat that.” The woman actually looked affronted. She was used to receiving complex instructions, Risa reminded herself, but nonetheless, she made her say it. When Nessa had successfully repeated that much, Risa kept going. “Make sure everything is left by the fountain before you go to bed. If any sees you, you’ll have to make some excuse. It must be there tonight, by the fountain, nowhere else. If you fail … we are all here lost.”

“But … but what if I am questioned?” Nessa stammered, fear beginning to return. “What if I am discovered?”

“You must not be. You must go about your day. Serve as you would serve any other master. Do not question anything you see, that is the most important thing. Can you do this? Your freedom and your man’s depend on it. There’s a boy here too. They have no one but us to save them.”

That seemed to steady her. “I … I can try … mmm … mmm….” She was trying to say “mistress,” but the word would not come.

“Then try, and pray for your soul that your trying is good enough. Go now, before anyone comes.”

Nessa nodded and scurried away, relief plain on her face. Again, Risa wondered what she saw around her. It didn’t matter. As long as she did what Risa asked. As long as her guesses proved correct.

Too tired to stand anymore, Risa, greatly daring, curled up in the chair Euberacon had left behind. Perhaps she could find her way to sleep from here, and dream of Gawain, of her freedom. She looked up to the turret so she might again see Euberacon afraid and use that as fuel for the small sparks of hope inside her.

But Euberacon was not there. The demons bobbed and swooped like so many confused and angry bees. The turret was deserted of its specter, and not one of the monsters could tell what had happened.

Where had he gone? What had he done? Risa gaped.

He had saved himself, pulled his soul down from the precipice and regained that part of himself lost to nightmare, and she had helped.

How much more would he be able to do come the daylight?

She gripped the chair arms and struggled not to cry out as the fear swelled and bubbled and coiled within her. He could do so much, even when he was in danger, what would he do now? What would he force her to do?

Hold on, hold on. God give me strength. Help me. He doesn’t know what I have done. He can’t know. If he knew he would be down here now. He still can’t see. He knows only what I told him, nothing else. He can’t see for himself
.

Yet
.

But Euberacon did not appear, not to her, not to the demons, for all they searched, frantic in their outrage. Nessa stayed away. Drew lay broken in the mud, and the little stable boy still swept. There was nothing to do, nowhere to go. Her copper chain held her fast. All she could do was pray, for strength and for calm, and that the morning would come again.

Risa knelt and the mud and clay were cold beneath her aching knees. She bowed her head and clasped her twisted hands.

Help me
, she prayed, for it was the only prayer she had left in the whole of her tattered soul.
Help me
.

Gawain woke in his bed. Darkness surrounded him. His dreams had been confused. There had been a chase, and blood in the green wood. He rubbed his eyes. He did not even remember going to sleep. He had meant to stay awake and walk the hall after dark to see what he could find. He had sat at board, there had been strong wine, and … he was here.

What had woken him?

Then, he heard it. A soft scratching at his door. He stood, grabbing up his tunic to cover his nakedness and then he opened the door.

Ailla stood in the dark corridor, a rushlight burning low in her hand.

“My lady …?”

But even as he spoke, she pushed her way past him. “Close the door. They mustn’t see the light.”

Gawain did as he was told. She used her light to kindle the candle at his bedside, then she placed the rush in a wall sconce. Gawain watched her swift and graceful movements, trying to clear the last of the heavy sleep from his head.

Ailla faced him. “You know,” was all she said.

Precious little, though
. But what he said was, “I know this is no natural place, lady.”

She nodded. “There is much I cannot tell you, but I can answer some of your questions if you ask them now.”

Gawain frowned at the closed door. “But it is night. If your husband …”

“It must be now,” Ailla cut him off. “He cannot question you about what you’ve received. It falls outside the bargain. Quickly, ask what you will.” She perched on the chair, her gaze darting anxiously between his befuddled countenance and the door.

With an effort, Gawain pulled his wits together. “Where is the Green Temple?”

Ailla nodded, as if approving of his choice of beginnings. “In the center of the great Northwood.”

“What is it?”

“A green mound without tree or brush growing on it and a clear stream running down its face.”

A strange temple for a strange apparition
. Gawain found his mind clearing. What had taken him so deeply into sleep? Was he ill again? Or was there something else happening to him? “Who is Belinus?”

Ailla dropped her gaze to her hands clasped tightly together on her lap. “That I may not say.”

Gawain leaned forward, and put his hand beneath her chin, lifting her face toward him so that she had to look into his eyes. He wanted her to see his honest desire to help her, he wanted her to see she could trust him. “Who are you?”

But she only pulled herself away from him. “A prisoner, even as you are.”

“How can I free you?”

“You cannot.”

I do not accept this
. “There must be some way …”

“There is none,” she announced, her voice flat and hopeless. “Listen to me, my Lord Gawain. I know what game you have committed yourself to play. Do you want to live to find you lady love?”

“With all my heart.”
But do not say I must leave you here to do so. There must be a way to bring you out of this place, to thank you for all you have done
.

She regarded him for a moment. Did she doubt him? No, she was saddened. She had no one she believed could save her, and yet her generous spirit drove her to try to save another in a similar plight. What a miracle to find such a one in such a place. “I can help you, but it must be done in secret. Tomorrow, your horse will be fit for travel. Come to breakfast with my husband. Do not be certain when he asks if you will leave. Say you are going to exercise your horse and ride out due southward. Do not take your arms, or they will know something is wrong. You will find a track and near it there is an oak that was split by lightning. I will meet you beside that oak.”

“I cannot ask you to risk yourself for me.”

“You do not ask. I do it gladly. If I cannot be free, then let me know that you are.” She stood, answering some inner warning. “I must go.”

She took her light and left him then, closing the door softly behind her. Gawain stared for a moment and then ran both hands through his hair, trying to think.

What he wanted to do was grab up sword and spear and fight his way out of here, dragging Lady Ailla with him, as the Pictishmen were said to do with brides they favored. He did not want to wait anymore. She needed him, she was risking everything for him and he could do nothing. Imprisoned, she said. How? By whom? There must be some way to find out, some way to set her free.

And what of Risa?
asked a quiet voice in the back of his mind.

Risa. God in heaven, he had forgotten her for a moment. The realization appalled Gawain. How could he have ceased to think of her, even for a heartbeat? How could he find another woman fair or worthy when his betrothed had vanished, carried away by vile magics to what fate, God alone knew? How could his heart be so wayward?

Or so uncertain
.

No. There was no doubt in him. No true doubt. He loved Risa, heart and soul. He would save her. He would marry her. Gawain leapt to his feet and began to pace, cursing his weakness and his confusion. It was this place. The wrongness of it was infecting his blood. He had to get away from here. The way had been opened for him, he had only to take it. When he found Risa again, his eyes would clear and there would be no doubt left.

There was some glamour on this place. It was deep and it was subtle. He could not trust anything.

Not even Ailla?

He dismissed the thought. Even if she was not all that she seemed, she was risking all to help him. Should he open the door? Should he take his weapons and both of them out of here by force if he must?

No. She had some way to help him survive what must come at the Green Temple. To seek escape now would be to lose that chance. He must stay. He must endure the remainder of this night, and then he and Ailla both would be free. He would see to that. Then he would find Risa. He would find Risa if he had to split the world in two to do it. She was his love, she and no other.

Knowing sleep to be impossible, Gawain took up his sword and began a series of practice exercises, parries, cuts, thrusts, counters. The chamber was small, but there was just room enough to swing the blade, to dance with his shadow in dangerous play, cutting at the air as if he could slice through the tangle of mystery that held him, as if he could cut the yearning to see Lady Ailla smile once more for him from his mind.

In the morning, Gawain washed his face and hands. Regretfully leaving his arms behind, he went into the hall and for the first time since coming to this grim place, he joined his host in breaking his fast. Belinus consumed massive quantities of the simple porridge his wife served, washed down with more ale than Gawain would have thought it possible for one man to consume. Ailla did not look at him once during the meal.

“Well, my Lord Eagle!” Belinus slammed his noggin down on the table, making all the bowls and spoons rattle. “Do you fly away from us today?”

“I mean to take my horse out for exercise,” Gawain replied, hoping he did not sound too much as though he were being careful with his words. “If all be well then yes, I mean to continue on my journey.”

“Well, some of us will be sorry to see you go.” Belinus winked broadly at Ailla. “But if you are still not able to tear yourself away from our merry hall, you are welcome to stay and see what this day brings you.”

“I thank you for your most generous hospitality, my host.”

“Rather you should thank my wife!” Ailla was passing Belinus’s chair with an empty bowl and he grabbed her around her waist, planting a great kiss on her cheek before releasing her. Gawain had to force himself to remain seated. She was his wife, all rights were his, but … a serving girl would not be handled this way in Camelot, never mind a lady. Arthur would have never permitted it. “It is a treat to have her so blushing and lively! I would have you stay all the summer to quicken her blood with your tales of Camelot. But tell me,” his voice dropped into tones of conspiracy, “were you able to winkle the secret of the Green Temple while I left you two alone these past days?”

I will get you out of this place
, he swore silently as Ailla returned to the fire to fill the bowl once again. Gawain chose his words carefully. “My hostess has told me nothing of the Green Temple on any day.”

“Bad luck, bad luck!” Despite his words, Belinus looked quite pleased. He pushed aside the bowl of porridge Ailla placed in front of him. “To horse then, my Lord Eagle. Let us fly!”

Gawain accompanied Belinus out into the yard. His men were already mounted on their uncombed ponies and his great roan stallion was saddled and waiting for him. He swung himself up easily into the saddle, raised his hand to Gawain, who returned the salute, wheeled the horse about and cantered away into the woods.

Gawain waited where he was until the forest had closed completely about his host and the sound of hoofbeats was lost beneath the sound of birdsong. Then, he ambled toward the stable as if reaching his horse was less important than enjoying a morning where the sun shone brightly for a change and the mist was already burning away.

There was no immediate sign of the stablemaster, and Gawain did not seek him out. He examined Pol’s ankle and found that the swelling was gone, and there was no pain when he probed the spot, nor did Pol seem to be favoring it at all. He found Pol’s harness hanging on wooden pegs outside the box. Gringolet gave an anxious snort as his master began to saddle the other horse.

“Do not worry, my friend,” he said. “I will be back for you, without fail.”

You and my lady. Neither of you are staying here
.

The sky was clear and taking his bearings was a simple matter. He had crossed only a handful of acres before the trees began to close about him, and he found the track Ailla had told him would be there. It was rutted and faded, but still easy enough to follow, and soon he came to a towering oak the side of which had been burnt black and flayed open almost to its heart. It would not live much longer.

As he pulled back on Pol’s reins, Ailla stepped out from behind the tree. She had come on foot and she must have run for she was flushed and breathing hard. Her eyes were brighter than he had seen them before.

She could come this far, why could she not go farther?

“How is it you are able to walk free?” Gawain could not keep himself from asking the question.

Ailla twisted her hands together. Gawain wanted to reach down and separate her hands. He feared one day she might hurt those delicate fingers with that rough gesture. “There are ways, my lord, but they will not last long.”

“Do you work magics?” Wariness rose in him, for all he at once told himself that this lady had done nothing but aid him since he had come to this strange place.

“My husband is not the only one who follows the old ways, my lord. Please, we must hurry.” She held up her hands. “We have some ways yet to go.”

Gawain reached down and pulled her up before him. She found her seat easily. It was obviously not only her lord who liked to ride.

“You must tell me where, my lady,” he said, reaching around her to take up Pol’s reins.

“Follow the track,” she said. “But I must ask you to be silent. What we need to find will take some looking.”

“As my lady says.” Gawain put his knees to Pol’s side. The horse, thoroughly tired of being cooped up for days on end, stepped up quickly and lightly.

Gawain soon found himself wishing he was at leisure to enjoy this ride. Ailla’s body was warm against his chest. Despite her silence, she seemed at ease, as if savoring the measure of freedom she gained in the greenwood.
What holds you in that hall?
he found himself wondering yet again.
Why will you not speak to me of it?

Could Belinus be a sorcerer? There was magic here. Was her fate what Risa’s would have been had he not found her?

What Risa’s fate
is. He reminded himself sternly. You
have not saved her yet
.

The heat of the day was growing, even beneath the forest canopy. Two days of inactivity and an interrupted night followed by the steady rhythm of a walking horse lulled Gawain into a kind of a waking sleep. For a moment he thought it was Risa he held, and he longed to take her into his arms, to remind her of his love the best way he knew how …

“There, my lord.”

Gawain’s head jerked back, and the world snapped into place around him, and Risa was gone, and Ailla was in his arms, pointing off to the left. Gawain reined Pol to a stop, and tried to see what Ailla meant to show him.

At first he saw only the trees and the rough ground between them. Then, gradually, he realized what he had at first taken for a small hillock was in fact a hovel of bark and mud, and a human figure squatted on the ground before its dark doorway.

Ailla slipped down from Pol’s back. “The one we are going to see has great power in this place, Gawain, although it will not appear so. Treat her as you would the high queen in her hall.”

Gawain nodded, tethered Pol to a tree and followed Ailla into the trees. As they approached the hovel, he saw that the human figure was an ancient woman. Her hair was lank and yellow-white. Her dress was so filthy and tattered it was impossible to tell what color it had once been. It was only the constant breeze that kept the smell of the place tolerable. Her eyes though, her eyes were still a young woman’s, sharp and watchful, and almost entirely black.

Ailla knelt before the hunched and haggish figure. Gawain, mindful of what she had told him, did the same.

“Mother,” said Ailla humbly. “I am come to beg a favor of you.”

The crone shifted her weight left, then right. She peered closely at Gawain, and Gawain could feel the power of that gaze.

“I know what you’re here for,” she said. Her voice was harsh as a crow’s, as if she were unused to speaking. “It can be bestowed only once, daughter. I’ve told you that before.”

“I know, mother.”

The dim gaze seemed to grate across Gawain’s skin, raising goosebumps. Then, she turned her head and spat. “Is he worthy of such a gift?”

Gawain opened his mouth, but Ailla spoke first. “For my sake, mother. I beg you.”

“Well. Well. So it shall be then.”